


Drabbles in Skyhold

by AuriteQueen



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunken Experiments, Seriously sorry about this one, Terrible writings when lacking sleep, This is what happens when accidentally falling off the highest place in Skyhold, slowest burn ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriteQueen/pseuds/AuriteQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a place where I will place all my little drabbles, thoughts, and headcanons for my Orianna Trevelyan and whatever else my brain decides to spit out. I apologize in advance. It could be a crazy ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I have seriously not slept in nearly two days. This tiny ficlet just wouldn't leave me alone, and I decided to write it down. I apologize now for how terrible it is, but I do think that getting something written in a step in the right direction. This is also posted on my tumblr page
> 
> etherealinquisitor.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm new to all of this, so drop me a message if you have any constructive criticism. I like getting better, and there are so many amazing writers here that I'm sure I'm going to learn a lot.

The Inquisitor was insane. She was also incredibly drunk.

Varric shook his head as he looked up at her balancing precariously on the edge of the highest point of Skyhold.

“Princess, I’m pretty sure that Skyhold will not save you if you jump off of the ramparts. It’s a building, not a magical….I’m sorry, what did you call it?” The dwarf peered up at the petite brunette who had obviously been drinking far too much with Bull. He knew better than to leave her alone with that horned giant after killing a dragon, That swill the Chargers drank was barely classified as alcohol, and her human constitution was obviously not built for handling it.

“Skyhold is MAGICAL, Varric,” she trilled, carefully hopping from brick to brick, breathing in the crisp winter air. “Once, I tripped right off the steps.”

Varric snorted because of course she did. She had the grace of a newborn druffalo: adorable and very dangerous if you were in her path. It was a miracle she had survived this long.

“I heard that! No, wait, I wasn’t done…” Green eyes peer down at the dwarf, and she attempts to look threatening. She fails. “When I fell, I didn’t get hurt. No pain, no nothing. I just fell on a cloud of….er….magic elfy cloud magic.”

It was at that point that Solas decided to walk into the courtyard, curious as to what Varric was doing. “Master Tethras, what are you–”

“SOLAS! Tell Varric that it’s truuuuuue!” The Inquisitor’s arms raised high, and she spun on her heel, wobbling precariously before righting herself. “Tell him there is magic.”

Varric pressed the heel of his hand into his left eye, trying desperately not to look at the dumbstruck elf standing beside him. It was probably the only time Solas had been completely speechless. “She’s drunk, Chuckles. I’ve been trying to talk her down before she actually jumps from up there. She has this insane idea that she won’t get hurt if she falls.”

Blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Solas gained control of his facial expressions again. “It is quite possible that Skyhold has taken to protecting the Inquisitor. The magics here are ancient, and she would be considered very important, precious if you will.” The elf silently folds his hands behind his back and cranes his neck up to gaze at the human above him. “Perhaps you should test your theory a little closer to the ground, Inquisitor.”

A growl escaped the Inquisitor, and she glared down at the two men. “None of you believe me. I am so TIRED of no one believing me. Jus ‘cause I’m a little inebri-bree-drunk doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about. This place is magical, and I’m going to show all of you!”

Solas’ brows shot up at the animalistic growl coming from the Inquisitor. His gaze dropped lower to where Cullen has appeared a level lower than the woman, looking horrified at the current situation. The Commander slowly started up the stairs, obviously attempting to make it to the drunken woman before she falls to her death.

A slight frown tugged at the corner of Solas’ lips, obviously not pleased at the appearance of the Inquisition’s golden Commander. “Perhaps, Inquisitor, you should just jump.”

“What?!”

“NO!”

Both Varric and Cullen’s voices rang out after the words left Solas’ mouth. His eye never left the Inquisitor’s, however, and she grinned triumphantly down at him right before she stepped off the edge.

She shrieked as she fell, giggling madly as a puff of gentle magic kept her from hitting the ground hard. She landed flat on her back, still cackling at the looks on everyone’s faces. “I toooooold you guys! Perfectly safe. Let’s do that again….!” She rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her face into the cool grass beneath her.

“Maker, Solas, make sure she’s not injured!” Cullen said from his position up above them.

Solas wandered slowly over to her. “It does indeed look as if Skyhold wants to make sure you–” He hopped to one side as she lost her lunch and dinner right where he was standing.

“Ung…Never mind. Too much rush. Stomach not pleased…Sorry Solas. Dying now.” She rolled onto her back, eyes rolling into her head.

Varric laughed on his way over to the two of them. “I think, Chuckles, that you need to tell her exactly where that ‘precious protection magic’ is coming from. She might get drunk while you’re not here, and then where would that leave us?”

Solas’ eye widened slightly, and he looked down at Varric with an innocent expression. “I know not of what you speak, Child of the Stone.”

“Yeah, sure, Chuckles. Make sure she gets to bed, alright? If you don’t, Curly will.”


	2. Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff. I'm not even sure where I was going with this. It just....became what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also on my tumblr at
> 
> etherealinquisitor.tumblr.com
> 
> There are also other goodies there, too! Check it out!

Orianna Trevelyan was not what one would consider a striking individual. She was of a medium height, five foot five was a respectable height for a woman, slightly too curvy for her noble family who considered any kind of hips or other deposits of fat completely embarrassing, and if she wore her hair in any kind of updo she looked like a twelve year old. It was also a mousy brown and had the most annoying caramel strands woven into it randomly from the bottom to the top. She was different than the others of her family, and it was always pointed out in the loudest, most embarrassing way possible. Even her freckles were an affront to the delicate noble features her family had hoped she would gain. The offending brown spots marred her porcelain skin and made her look ever so similar to the commoners.

Her eyes were the only part of her face she did like: Emerald green that bled into a soft gold in the middle, surrounding her pupil with liquid metal. No one in her family had eyes similar, and sometimes she secretly hoped that her REAL family would come and find her. Surely no real family would let a scared, twelve year old girl be dragged away by templars and put into a prison just because she was different. There was a tiny part of her, one she kept so hidden that sometimes even she forgot about it, that wondered if they gave her away because she wasn’t pretty enough, not graceful enough. Magic was probably just an excuse.

The Inquisitor studied herself in the mirror in nothing but a breastband and her soft leather breeches, picking and pulling at various skin to try and imagine what it would be like to be confident in her own body like Vivienne or even Sera. They knew themselves and seemed to be satisfied with their lot in life (even if their lots were completely different). 

She turned to the side and sucked in her stomach, wincing as the wound on her abdomen reopened, a thin trickle of blood oozing out of the middle from her constant moving. The bruises around the cut were turning various shades of purple, blue, and red, and she was almost certain that bones were broken. However, she would suffer with this before she chugged down another horrific healing potion. It tasted like used socks and snot. There would definitely be scars because of her stubbornness, she was certain.

Oh, yeah. Scars. They made her even more self conscious than the freckles and fat deposits combined. The last red templar had nearly cleaved her in half, and if it hadn’t been for her barrier flying up when it did, he may have well succeeded. This particular wound left a jagged stretch of bleeding flesh from the middle of her left rib to the tip of her right hip. It was going to be one heck of a scar if she could get it to stop bleeding. There were others, scars far older criss crossing her back for taking up for a fellow mage in Ostwick, a long, thick scar down her arm for playing with a sword too big for her to handle. This one, however, would take the cake and make certain she never removed her clothes in front of a lover. 

Not that she had any takers anyway.

She poked her abdomen once more before picking up a clean dressing and pressing it to her middle, laying on her bed with a sigh. What she wouldn’t give for a normal day with a normal person, maybe even cuddling while she recovered from the brink of death again. That would be nice.

She knew this was a dumb line of thinking, but with Orlesians and other dignitaries throwing themselves at her almost every day with no more thought for her happiness than that of a horse or house pet, she just needed some kind of real human -- or elf, qunari, or other humanoid type, if she were being completely honest -- interaction that didn’t involve fighting things to the death or brushing off suitors who wanted to be the arm candy of the Inquisitor.

Her friends were wonderful, amazing people, but they did have their own lives when she wasn’t dragging them around Thedas to save the world. She wouldn’t bother them enough to ask for a cuddle when she was feeling low. Besides, she had _the Maker and Andraste_ to keep her warm.

Groaning, she threw and arm over her face and sniffed, deciding that a nap might be in order right before there was a loud knock at the door. She jerked up, pondering whether or not to throw a fireball in the direction of the offending knock.

“Inquisitor? Lady Cassandra insisted that I come up here and look at your injuries. She indicated they were quite grievous.”

Solas. Of all the people Cassandra could send up, she decides that the elf who has no use for humans, the one who spends all his time dreaming about what has been instead of what COULD be, should come up to help her heal. 

At least Dorian would have told her jokes or Vivienne would gossip with her. Solas just made her stomach turn flips when he looked at her with those blue eyes of his, and she spent most of her time trying not to blush or turn into a stammering teenager when she spoke to him. Her hand slides down to the what’s left of the skin of her abdomen and she sighs as the warm feeling of blood hits her fingertips. She wouldn’t have to worry about that right now, though, with the mood she was in.

“It’s alright to come in, Solas, I’m up here on the bed,” she called out, not even bothering to toss a blanket over herself. What use would he have at looking at her other than to check for injuries?

As his bald head crested the stairs, she turned her head to watch him make his way into her room. He paused at the top, his eyes scanning the various tapestries and other decorations around the room. It was a lot to take in the first time, and this was the only time Orianna could ever remember him coming into her room. She huffed and leaned back onto her bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

Once his curiosity was satisfied, he turned to the bed and clasped his hands behind his back as he made his way towards her. He paused mid-step as he realized exactly what he was looking at, swallowing compulsively as his gaze roamed over the Inquisitor’s half-bare form. It was only for a moment, however, and he righted his steps and completed the journey across the room.

“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the corner of the bed so he could sit down to better see her injuries.

With her arm thrown over her eyes again, she mumbled a “no” and re-positioned herself so he could see the wounds easier. “Don’t get any blood on these sheets, though. Leliana would kill me. Or you, probably you more than me,” she teased, peeking at him from up under her arm.

The corner of his lip turned up in a small smile, and he sat carefully on the bed so as not to jar her. “I shall endeavor to keep the blood inside your body, Inquisitor. Now tell me,” he said softly, fingertips grazing over the wound across her middle, “why exactly did you feel the need to take on a red templar all by yourself?” His magic ghosted out of him, finding the bits of her skin that were still bleeding and slowly knitting them together.

“‘Cause he was an ass?” The mark on her hand crackled the more effort Solas put into healing her wound, and she flexed her fingers to lessen the tingling. “And he broke my staff.”

“Perish the thought that you couldn’t get another staff. You had The Iron Bull with you. He could have taken the brunt of the attack.” His eyebrows creased with concentration, and his hand moved from the center of the gash in her middle to the bruises around it. 

She flinched as his fingertips met smooth skin, and she kept her arm tight around her face and prayed to The Maker, Andraste, and any other god, spirit, or demon that was listening that he kept his eyes off her face. The flush rising up her neck and into her cheeks wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

He murmured an apology, assuming her movement was due to discomfort and continued gliding his hand over her middle. “Your ribs are broken, and it will take several rounds of healing to get you back into fighting shape.” He nearly growled the last part, and she could feel his heavy gaze on her face. She didn’t dignify the comments with a response, feeling ever so much like the proverbial child who was being chastised for some unknown infraction.

“You could have died, Inquisitor. You are not immortal, and you have followers who would lay down their lives for you to make sure you live.”

Her arm flew off her face, and she shifted enough that she was propped up on her elbows. Her movements were jarring enough that the newly healed nerves screamed at the effort. She met his gaze with a stony one of her own. “I will never sacrifice one of my people for my own life. Not one. Even if that means I have to take the hits, or the stabs, or the punches just to make sure they aren't overwhelmed or injured, I will do it every time. No one’s life is worth mine. Ever, Solas. They are _people_ with lives, feelings, fears… And if you can’t see past the chess games you and Bull play to the real people underneath, then it might be time for you to send up another healer.” 

The silence in the room was deafening, and neither of them moved for what seemed like hours. Solas moved first, looking vaguely uncomfortable and satisfied with her answer at the same time as he returned his hand back to her middle, gently pushing her onto her back again. “Apologies, Orianna, the comment I made was one that I shouldn’t have. I only meant that they care enough about you to protect you. Perhaps I was merely trying to imply that I should have been there to help.”

She didn’t answer him, though she did follow his directions and lay back again as he continued the healing. Mentally beating herself in the head for ruining whatever friendship she was sure she and Solas had, she nearly missed his last comment. “I didn’t ask you to go because you said you didn’t like deserts.”

If it were anyone else, Orianna would have sworn that Solas snorted in amusement. That would be impossible, though, because it was Solas. “I’m not sure that anyone likes deserts. Surely my company would have been more enjoyable than that of Sera lamenting about sand being in…. _places_.”

She nearly choked at the perfect pitch and accent of Sera’s voice coming out of Solas’ mouth. It took monumental will not to laugh so hard she ruined all of his work, but her ribs still shot pain through her whole body as she shook from the effort. “So healing isn’t your first talent, then?” she giggled, using her sleeve to wipe tears from the corner of her eye.

“Indeed it is not,” he purred, and she could swear the temperature in the room shot up a hundred degrees. His fingers slid over the unmarred skin of her side a moment longer than necessary before the warmth left her altogether, and he stood from the bed. “I will have your ladies bring you up a bath. The skin should hold nicely for you to get clean, and I will visit you in the morning to continue your treatment. Don’t do anything that would injure yourself any further, please.”

“Mmkay,” is all she can manage to get out without turning into a complete idiot.

He turned to leave, then paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. “From now on, I request to be with you when you leave Skyhold. Simply to make sure you don’t throw yourself in front of another Templar, of course.”

“Even in the desert. Even the sandy places?”

“Even then.”

Several things occurred to the Inquisitor as Solas left her room. He had never said her name before tonight, no one was EVER going to believe that he could pull off a Sera impersonation, and maybe, just maybe she had a different kind of confidence all her own.


End file.
